


Lacking the Milk

by Wagontrain



Series: Shakespeare Retold Through Video Games [1]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 16:18:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11993427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wagontrain/pseuds/Wagontrain
Summary: Following the fall of the Institute, Nate seeks to follow the prophecy laid before him and advance his station within the Brotherhood.





	Lacking the Milk

A nasty radstorm roiled overhead, viridian lightening splashing across the sky. A mile behind Nate and Danse, the massive crater that had been the Institute yawed wide in the ground. Even as they trudged away, Nate found his eyes dragged back again and again; _one more bit of devastation in an already devastated world,_ he thought. _Taking out a little more bad and hoping what’s left over is better for it._

“That was a battle that will be recited in the Litany for ages to come,” Danse said, shouting to be heard over the rain. The soles of his power armor pulverized broken concrete underfoot. “I’d heard stories from back in the Capital Wasteland, of when the Brotherhood fought against the Enclave and the final push to secure Project Purity. But for all their vile arrogance, the Enclave never embodied the corrupted evil of technology run rampant so well as the Institute.”

Nate nodded. The images of the battle inside the Institute, the melting artificial flesh of the synths and the hauntingly human way they screamed as they deactivated still lurked in his mind. “They remind me of the Chinese communists we fought in the Old War,” he said. “So secure in their machines that they underestimated the grit and guts of a true American solider.”

“ _Ad victoriam_ , paladin,” Danse said. “I wish that I could have seen the military of your time. You alone fight like a deathclaw among molerats; I can only imagine what a battalion of men like you could do.”

The sidewalk gave way to a low hill of spikey grass, and the whine of the servos of Nate’s power armor pitched just a little higher. He could feel wetness in the knee. No pain, so it wasn’t blood, but the seal keeping the rain out was broken. _Need to maintenance that,_ Nate thought. He recalled catching an azure laser blast to that knee, and smiled faintly at the memory of the Courser who fired it dying at the end of his Ripper blade. “What next for us, then? How do we match this victory?”

“For today?” Danse let out a low, barking laugh. “We go home. You to Sanctuary, me to the Cambridge police station. We must hold the ground we’ve claimed until the situation stabilizes. Then we’ll see what Elder Maxson has planned next.” He glanced warily around the sparse, dead trees. “I could use a rest.”

“Think we’ll need to do mop-up on the remaining synths in the area?”

“Doubtful. The Institute scientists called all their lackeys home to try and resist us. There’s none left to annihilate.”

Nate peered through the rain, his helmet’s lenses attempting to focus into the distance. A shack sat nestled in between some trees, warm light glowing from the window. “See that?”

“Wastelander garbage,” Danse said lowly. “Not worth our time.”

“Maybe they have sometime of value,” Nate replied. “Come on. It’s only a few minutes out of our way.”

Under ordinary circumstances, several hundred pounds of power armor would be the antithesis of subtlety and stealth. In this relentless rad-rain, however, Nate and Danse could be somewhat discrete. Nate closed to one of the windows and peered in. “Three women. Humans, not ghouls. They’re all around a chemistry lab.”

“As I said,” Danse replied, “Wastelander garbage.”

Nate tuned the microphone in his armor’s helmet, trying to find the right combination of settings to filter out the rain. “…damnedable night, inn’it?” the red-headed woman inside said. “Ye almost done with that?” Nate recognized the woman she had spoken to; Trashcan Carla was a trader who had made many stops at Sanctuary. She smirked through the wafting vapors of the chem station. “Patience, dear Cait. Patience.” She held aloft a vial, letting the light of the storm play through murky amber concoction. “Mentats, Daytripper, vodka, Jet, Mentats, and also more Mentats, all distilled into this fine elixir. My own _personal_ blend.” 

“No Psycho?” Cait asked, disappointed.

“Last time you had Psycho, you knocked out four of poor Carla’s teeth,” the third woman replied.

Cait scowled. “I dinna mean to hit my dear sister, and you know it, Mama Murphy.”

“What I _know_ is how you get on Psycho.” Mama Murphy rose unsteadily from her chair and reaching greedily for Carla’s vial. “Give it, give it here. Enjoy it while it lasts, sisters, this is the last we’ll have until after the Sole Survivor’s seen his war won and lost. War never changes, mark my words.”

“’Sole Survivor?’” Nate said to Danse. “That’s…that’s what people call me.”

“This is getting more interesting,” Danse said.

Carla allowed Mama Murphy to snatch the test tube from her, and deftly filled two more vials. One she offered to Cait. The redhead pressed the tube to her lips and knocked it back in a single go, sputtering at the vile taste. “ _Saints_ , tha’s disgusting.”

“It’s delightful!” Carla snapped back, drinking her concoction down and relaxing against the chem station as the chems took hold of her.

“Have enough of this in your system and delight is disgust, and disgust delight,” Mama Murphy sighed as she collapsed back into her chair. “But we’re being rude, dear sisters. Keeping our eavesdroppers out in the rain!”

“How…” Danse began.

“No matter now,” Nate said, rounding the small shack and pulling the door open. “I want to know what they mean about my war being won and lost.” He entered the room, and rather than the hesitance or cowering he’d come to expect from Wastelanders being confronted by a paladin in power armor, all three women beamed at him. 

“’ello to you, Nate, Paladin of the Brotherhood of Steel,” Cait called out to him.

“Hello to you, Nate, Sentinel of the Brotherhood of Steel,” Carla shouted after her.

“Hello to you, Nate, Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel hereafter,” Mama Murphy finished with a tight grin.

“You know a lot for a couple of women in a shack,” Nate said. “But Sentinel? Elder? No.”

“They’re strung out on chems, and crazy to boot,” Danse said. “They’re just talking. Don’t let them rile you.”

“Now tha’s ‘ardly polite,” Cait spat a wad of something viscus and blue at the floor; mucus made thick and acidic by the cocktail of drugs. “Nate ‘ere’s polite. You, yer only an imitation of the man he is.” 

Carla shrugged. “Not as successful, but honestly better off for it. Still, one loyal to you will lead your so-called Brotherhood, after the Elder here has had his time.”

“I think we’d likely be doing the Commonwealth a favor if we put them down now,” Danse said, unslinging his laser rifle.

Nate held out a hand to block his aim. “Hold on, hold on. I don’t understand you sisters. You claim to know what’s going to happen in the future? Tell me more. Will Piper and I…?”

“Oh! Oh! The newspaper girl!” Mama Murphy began to laugh, first a chortle, then a roar, then a hacking guffaw as she gasped for breath.

“She’ll prove herself t’ have no lack of courage,” Cait added, covering her mouth as she joined in the laughter. “F’r what that’s worth!” Carla just laughed and laughed, the peals of her humor echoing off the shack’s uneven walls.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Nate said.

“Still think we should burn this place down and them in it,” Danse muttered as they trudged away. 

“It’s been a long day of work,” Nate said. “Right now all I want is to get home to Sanctuary and sleep in my own bed.”

* * *

Sanctuary Hills, Nate once told Piper, had been an idyllic suburban cul-de-sac where he and his wife had settled down after he returned from the Great War. At the time Piper had been thrilled to have found another lexophile, so much so that she’d been willing to overlook the mention of a dead wife. In the months since he’d first stumbled into Diamond City, though, Nate and Piper had grown closer and closer, and when the Brotherhood sent him to secure the northern section of the Commonwealth, Nate founded his base of operations in Sanctuary and invited Piper along.

A settlement needed a lot of things before it needed a newspaper, Piper had realized, and she learned to build walls, to raise a roof, to fortify defenses. She learned to repair Nate’s old home, and it became hers too. All of his successes brought her something, which was why the message brought to her by one of the settlers working in Sanctuary’s radio building was such an excitement to her.

“Okay, try it again,” Piper said. 

Nat glared at the sheet of paper, trying to decipher meaning out of the rows of dots and dashes. “There’s no _words_ ,” she whined.

“They’re words, just not like how you’re used to seeing them. A good reporter has to be able to interpret things, even when other people try to hide them,” Piper retorted. “Come on, you had a good start. Up here at the top, I told you this line says ‘For your eyes only.’ That means you know what ‘e,’ ‘f,’ ‘l,’ ‘n,’ ‘o,’ ‘r,’ ‘s,’ ‘u,’ and ‘y’ look like. Use that to make guesses about the other words.”

“Don’t people put things in code when they don’t want other people to read it?” Nat asked.

“Hey, good on you! Puttin’ the facts into context.” Piper beamed at her sister. “Yup! People code things they want to keep secret. And that’s exactly the sort of stuff that’s usually most important for a reporter to find out about.”

Codsworth bustled into the house on a pillar of superheated air. “Ma’am! Ma’am! I can see Master Nate approaching, he’s crossing the bridge now!”

Piper let out a deep sigh. She had known in her head that Nate would be all right -he always was- but convincing her heart of that was a more complicated thing. Nat was watching, though, so she pressed a smile to her lips. “Codsworth, what did I tell you we were calling Nate from now on?”

“Ah…” the robot rotated in place, his three limbs wavering uncertainly. “I believe you told me that you wished for me to refer to him only as ‘Fuckface.’ Though the reason why certainly escapes me.”

Nat giggled, and Piper grinned back at her. “Because it’s funny, Codsworth. Now go greet Master Fuckface and bring him back here.”

If a robot could sound dejected, Codsworth certainly did. “Yes…ma’am.” 

“Yesterday I heard him muttering to himself about how Mistress Nora was nicer to him,” Nat whispered conspiratorially as Codsworth hovered back out of the room.

“Well, Mistress Nora’s been dead for two hundred years. Now there’s just Mistress Piper.” Piper rose to her feet and urged Nat out the door after Codsworth. “Now, go find someplace else to be. I’ve got to talk with Nate. Privately.”

“I know that ‘private’ is code for ‘naked,’” Nat scowled. 

“ _And_ you have the sense to not talk about it. Smart kid! Now get out.” Nat slouched out of the house with all the profoundness a ten-year-old could muster, and Piper picked up the coded message again. Her eyes scanned across the cypher, translating the dashes and dots to letters and the letters to words with practiced ease: “For your eyes only. To the Commander of Sanctuary. Following the latest and final action against the Institute, Elder Maxson has granted you the promotion of Sentinel . The Elder and entourage will be journeying north for a strategic summit regarding opening a campaign in the north-west Commonwealth. Expect a group of four including BoS second in command, who will stay a minimum of four days. Ad victoriam, Sentinel.”

Piper paced back and forth across the crudely refurbished kitchen. “Nate, promoted to Sentinel. That jumps him far, far up the chain of command in a heartbeat. Maxson’s a sucker for tales of valor and glory, I guess.” She rounded the island counter, pulling her lower lip in thought all the while. “The Brotherhood…so much power there, and all wasted on pillaging libraries and hunting ghouls. They don’t have vision. Nate, though…if Nate was leading them, the Brotherhood could be a force for good. But he’s too damn noble to act on his own.” 

Heavy footfalls outside shook her from her reverie. Piper turned to see Nate, clad in his bulky power armor making his way up the walk. “Well, hello, Blue,” she called. “If it isn’t my great Paladin. And…dare I even say? My Sentinel.”

Nate stopped at the doorway, uncertain look on his face. “That’s the second time today someone’s said that too me. It’s starting to get eerie.”

“You’d better get used to it, what with the promotion and all…” Nate’s expression didn’t change, and Piper frowned. “Seriously, here, look.” She handed him the coded message. “Came in about two hours ago.”

“I came straight here from the Institute battle,” Nate said, reading the message. “This is the first I’ve…officially…heard about this.”

“And…unofficially?”

Nate frowned, and triggered the mechanism to open his power armor. The plains on the chestpiece, arms, and thighs folded away and back, and he hopped the extra fourteen inches to the floor. “This is going to sound weird.”

“Yeah, we’re past weird,” Piper said with an eyebrow quirked.

“On the way here, Danse and I came across a ruined house with these three weird druggie sisters. They told me that I was going to be a Sentinel, and that I’d be an Elder later.” 

Piper nodded slowly. “Wow. Wow, Blue, that’s…”

“A crazy coincidence, I know.”

“Coincidence? Nate, I’m a reporter. Reporters don’t believe in _coincidences_. Three women, who I’m guessing were in no way affiliated with the Brotherhood?” Nate shook his head. “Right. Who weren’t affiliated with the Brotherhood knew about your promotion before I even got this message here. There’s a _story_ here, I know it. Given that their information about your promotion has been borne out, I say that we take their information about your _other_ promotion seriously, too.”

Nate laughed aloud. “Me? Elder? Maxson’s still a young man, I don’t think he’s going anywhere.”

“A young boy, you mean. Seriously, how is he an Elder if he isn’t even thirty yet?” Piper retorted. “You’ve said it yourself, he’s a kid raised on stories of heroic deeds or whatever. The Brotherhood, they all think they’re knights or monks or whatever. But you! Blue, you were actually in the military, you fought in a real war. The Brotherhood would thrive under your leadership.” 

Nate crossed the kitchen, searching the cupboard for a bottle of water. He turned back to Piper, carefully keeping the kitchen island between them. “You’re right that the Brotherhood is…well, they _think_ they’re a military. They’ve got an idea about command and structure, but they don’t have a concept of a mission beyond controlling or destroying any piece of technology more advanced than what they have now.”

“It’s a damn waste. They could be doing so, so much more!” She passed him a bowl of cut mutfruit. “Look, Nate, this promotion, the weird sisters’ prophecy or whatever you want to call it…there’s a story here. But sometimes you need to _make_ a story happen.”

He took a piece of fruit and chewed slowly. “The chapter can only have one Elder.”

“Yes, Blue.” Piper put her elbows on the island and leaned forward. “And the _current_ Elder is on his way here, now. We could make certain that he doesn’t ever leave.”

“Lancer Captain Kells is his second. Above me on the chain of command.”

“I have an idea about that, too.” Nate scowled, and Piper continued: “Come on, you were an officer in the Great War. Tell me you don’t miss it. Being saluted, everyone calling you sir? Immediate obedience to your every command? The _power_ to rain hell and damnation on your enemies? That could be yours again. You’ve just got to take it.”

Nate stared at her hard, and Piper suppressed a smile as she recognized the firm resolution in his eyes. “So what are you thinking? Ambushing them on the road north?”

“Look, the news tells the truth, but sometimes that truth is spoken quietly and without a readership,” Piper popped a piece of fruit into her mouth. “If we’re going to pull this off, we’ll need to look like a hubflower, not the radscorpion underneath. You get me?”

* * *

The vertibird announced itself with a dull roar of rotors a moment before appearing over the trees to the east of Sanctuary. Nate, clad in his bright blue Vault-Tec jumpsuit, watched as the aircraft hovered over helipad he had built after razing the Whitfield’s home. Ella Whitfield had always been a bit of a pain, and Nate decided that the crude-yet-sturdy structure he had built was much more appealing than the crude-and-gaudy attempts Ella had made at making her house festive for every single holiday on the calendar.

Maxson’s feet hit the pad an instant before the vertibird’s wheels, and behind him came Lancer Captain Kells and two Brotherhood paladins in full armor. Maxson looked over the neighborhood, taking in the walls around the shoreline, the generator building, and finally settling on Nate and Piper. “Man, that is…not a friendly look,” she said just loud enough to be heard over the rotors spinning down, clutching her cap to her head.

“It’s not that he doesn’t like you,” Nate replied, “just…”

“Oh I know. The Brotherhood doesn’t approve of you fucking the wasteland wildlife.” Nate’s jaw set, but he held his tongue; he couldn’t honestly tell her she was wrong and she knew it. “Well, too bad for them. No cult of techno-fetishists is going to tell me who I can love.”

Maxson led his party down the rude stairs from the landing pad to the street and Piper raised her voice to greet them, her voice pitched to a sweet and warm tone. “Elder Maxson. Welcome to Sanctuary. Please know that anything our settlement can offer is at the service of the Brotherhood. If there’s anything you require, please let me know.”

“Of course, Ms. Wright.” Maxson gave her the barest attention before turning to Nate. “Ah, my Sentinel. My conquering hero. All honor to you.”

“Ad victoriam, Elder.” Nate bowed his head. “The real honor should go to those who gave their lives for the mission.”

Maxson nodded in agreement, a bit too slowly for Nate’s taste. _I’ve seen men like him before. Who believe that a person can be respected, or dead, but not both._ Oblivious to Nate’s dark thoughts, Maxson continued. “We have much to discuss, Nate. With the Institute handled, I plan to lay the foundation of something much larger in the Commonwealth.”

“Yessir,” Nate replied. “I’ve set aside one of the homes here for your entourage, and another for yourself. Yours has the largest space, so I thought we could use it for strategic planning.” He led the way down the lane to the old Able home. Nora had been friends with both of the women who lived there, though Nate had warned her that their inverted deviance could be easily construed as being sympathetic to communism. Such things tended to be noticed by the neighborhood watch, and reflected poorly on Nate and Nora’s own household. It didn’t matter now; morality had collapsed so utterly in the last two hundred years that no one cared who slept with whom anymore. 

Maxson ordered his power armored guards -Murphy and Wallace- to stay outside; Nate could just see Piper in the distance, watching, and hoped she had the sense to stay away for once. The living room was as clean as Codsworth could make it, and Nate had ordered one of the settlers build and install a broad table in the living room. Maxson made a satisfied noise, and Kells produced a set of rolled-up topographical maps. “This is it,” Maxson said, gesturing vaguely at the maps. “This is the beginning of the Brotherhood empire in the east. The two of you, Kells, Nate, you have both proven yourself with steel and blood.”

“We’ve come a long way since Elder Lyon’s pacifism,” Kells intoned. “And the better for it.”

“Agreed. And I want the both of you involved for what comes next. Because this founding won’t just be my accomplishment, but the Brotherhood’s. And together…” Maxson put both palms on the table, looking intently from Nate to Kells and back, “…we are the Brotherhood.”

Words like _pompous fool_ and _up-jumped child_ flitted through Nate’s mind, but he pushed them back down. “Ad victoriam, Elder. What’s our objective?”

That simple question led to hours of discussion, and carried them late into the night. Maxson envisioned a Commonwealth ruled justly and completely by the Brotherhood, with the _Prydwen_ and Liberty Prime acting as symbols of power to the civilized wastelanders and symbols of death to raiders, super mutants, and anyone else who would seek to defy Maxson’s will. The problem came in trying to take and hold territory outside the Boston ruins; far too much ground, far too few Paladins to cover it. Nate and Kells identified raider settlements and other targets for pacification. If anything, the both of them worked to rein in Maxson’s ambition. When left to ruminate on his plans he began speaking of a Brotherhood empire that reached as far south as the Capital Wasteland and as far north as Far Harbor. They were the dreams of a child who assumed that after the battle was done there could be no further difficulties or complications. It was a view of governance so shallow as to be utterly naïve, and it was frankly a relief when Piper arrived with drinks. 

“Sorry to break up your boy’s club,” she said, not sounding sorry in the slightest to Nate’s ear, “but it’s late and you all have earned a break. This…” she passed around mugs of dark liquor, “…is our local brew. Some of the settlers figured out how to ferment mutfruit, and while it might not be what you all are used to up on your airship, well, it gets the job done.” 

“Thank you, Ms. Wright,” Maxson said. “Gentlemen. A toast, to the Brotherhood. To the victory over the Institute, and victory over all who would oppose us.”

“Ad victoriam,” Nate and Kells said.

“Ad victoriam,” Piper echoed, her eyes locked on Nate’s.

Maxson coughed half of his drink back out. “Ah! That’s certainly potent.”

“Only the best for our Elder,” Piper replied with a smile. “More?”

“Please,” Maxson said, holding out his mug.

Piper’s strategy was plain to Nate. She mixed praise of Maxson’s leadership and strength with offers to top off his drink, keeping the conversation light and ribald until the effect of drink set in and the Elder relaxed, if only a little. “I have to admit, Ms. Wright,” Kells said, gripping his mug with an uneven determination that suggested he felt the alcohol more than he wanted to let on, “you’re quite a bit better than the lazy trash we expect to find out here in the Wasteland.”

“I’ll try not to take that personally!” she laughed, liquid sloshing over the rim of her mug as she slammed it against the table. “I fact, I’ll have you know that I’m quite amep…quite ademp…Nate…?”

“’Adept,’” he supplied for her, and Piper slapped the table. 

“Yes! That. I am quite _adept_ in a firefight.” Despite her silliness and sloppiness, Nate realized that Piper was stone-cold sober; he had seen her in varying degrees of drunkenness, and even when she drank past being able to stand on her own, Piper never, ever lost her vocabulary. It was a point of pride, and pretending otherwise was a sacrifice to deceive Maxon and Kells. “Did you ever tell them about the shit we got into when we tried to get into the Glowing Sea? The time with the million goddamn ghouls?”

Maxson gaped. “ _You_ went to the Glowing Sea?”

Piper aped his shocked expression with a mockery that would have gotten her whipped if she were Brotherhood or Maxson were sober. “ _Yup._ See, _this_ asshole was screwing around with his Pipboy and gets this distress beacon that’s been playing for two centuries and goes, ‘hey, let’s check this out right now.’ I don’t know if it was a slow news day or _what,_ , but I’m sure not letting him just wander into radioactive hell on his own, so it’s him in this power armor and me in this red trenchcoat and a breather mask, and he…” she trailed off, tipping her mug experimentally on its side. “You guys? This is empty, and that’s horrible. I’ll be back. You want anything else to drink? I’ll bring you more stuff to drink.”

Piper stumbled out of the house, and Nate noticed Maxson’s eyes following her. “She’s a spirited woman, Nate. I had doubts, but I can see the steel in her bones.”

“No doubt,” Nate agreed, though more warily. 

“Sh’z good people, Kells slurred. 

“What happened in the Glowing Sea, Nate?” Maxson asked, interest alive in his tone and booze thick on his breath. 

Nate shrugged. “Well, it was a damned mess. We found the distress beacon, from a downed airliner, but as we were finishing scavenging the place Piper noticed that there were two or three dozen ghouls closing in outside, and quite a few of them were those damned glowing ones…”

“Hey! Hey, Elder!” Piper’s voice rang from outside. “You gonna just make these poor guys stand out here all night? Aren’t you supposed to be the great leader who drinks with his men?”

“I am that great leader!” Maxson roared back. “Murphy, Wallace, join us! The victory we’re toasting is yours as much as ours!”

The Paladins stomped into the house and stepped out of their armor. Piper bustled in after them, three jugs of mutfruit moonshine under her arms. Maxson reached for one, but she shooed him off. “Stop that, you’re our _guest._ Lemme pour you.” She filled Maxson and Kells’ cups again, then the Paladins’, before setting the jug down before them with a thud. She opened the second jug and poured for herself and Nate, muttering “Drink up, sweetie.” Nate put the mug to his lips, and was surprised by the lack of acrid burn; the second jug was normal, unfermented juice. 

The night’s momentum was well underway, and Maxson, Kells, and the Paladins finished the two jugs of liquor with minimal prompting from Piper. Kells told a rambling story about the dangers of navigating the New York deadzone. Maxson, for his part, solemnly eulogized a woman Nate had never met; disquietingly, from Maxson’s description of her Nate realized he couldn’t decipher if the woman was his sister, mother, or lover. 

Eventually, Kells started to slip off of his stool. “Whoa, whoa, big guy!” Piper said, getting her shoulder under him before he could topple over. “Maybe you’ve found your limit. Let’s get you to bed, eh?”

“I’ll take him,” Nate said, rising to his feet. “In fact, with your leave, Elder, I think I’ll bunk down for the night as well. I think I’ve also…found my limit.”

“Take care of yourself, Nate.” Maxson raised his mug as Nate took Kells’ drunken weight. “I need you in fighting prime!”

Nate helped Kells make his way outside and down the sidewalk to the next house. Kells pulled away from him and sprawled out on the ramshackle couch in the living room. “Come on, Kells, we’ve got a full bed ready for you.”

“This bed’s great, thank you,” Kells murmured, already mostly passed out. 

“Fine, whatever,” Nate muttered. Murphy and Wallace entered the house behind him, bleary with booze, and headed to the bedrooms in the back of the house. “Enjoy the rest, gentlemen.” One of them grunted something unintelligible back at him.

Nate turned and left the house, headed back towards Maxson’s temporary lodgings, but his feet dragged to a stop. “What the hell am I doing?” he asked of no one in particular. “Killing the Elder? Is she out of her mind? Am I? Even if I did…if the Elder died, there would be questions. Trouble. No matter how careful I am, somehow it’ll come back to me. This is a bad fucking idea.”

“Keep your damn voice down, Blue.” 

Nate looked up with a jerk. Piper stood in the shadow of the house, her red trench coat darkened to the shade of spilled blood. “I can’t go through with this. He named me his Sentinel. That’s _good,_ Piper. There’s power in that position.”

Piper glanced around, making sure no one was around. “C’mere,” she hissed, waving him into the shadows with her. “Come _here._ ” Nate reluctantly complied. “Look, I get that there’s a lot of power in being the Sentinel, but you know what position has even more power? Being Elder.”

“What would I even do with all that power?”

“Gee, I don’t know,” Piper placed a finger on her chin in mock-contemplation. “Convince the Brotherhood to actually enforce peace and justice in the Commonwealth instead of just looking for excuses to shoot people? Stop the wholesale oppression of sentient Ghouls? Unite the different settlements into one coherent government?” She scowled. “But no, it’s real important for you to just keep following orders. I’m sure shooting super mutants is _really_ important.”

“Knock it off,” Nate shot back. 

“No!” Piper threw up her arms in frustration, and brought her voice back down to an angry rumble. “I thought you were a man with integrity, Nate. A man of your word. I, I don’t know, maybe I had this stupid romanticized idea about what the past was like before everything went to radioactive shit, and I thought you were serious about trying to make the Commonwealth a better place.”

Nate shook his head. “I _am._ ” Piper just shook her head and turned her back to him. “There are just so many ways this could go wrong.”

“Not if we’re careful,” Piper intoned. “And I am very, very careful.” She faced him, and slipped an item from the deep pocket of her trench coat, holding it to the moonlight. It was a combat knife, Nate could see, standard Brotherhood issue, but this one was etched with the phrase _Our journey is to discriminate between cowards and brave men._ “Borrowed it from Kells’ bag while I was out getting refills. Everybody but us is asleep, Blue, and so blotto that they may as well be. No better opportunity than this.” 

Nate took the knife from her, checking the keen edge in the silvery light. “I could do so much better than him.”

“Yeah, and hell, you deserve better than this place.” Piper nodded fiercely. “You were made to lead. This is the first step. Just meet me back in our house when it’s done, all right?”

He stepped away from her without answering, silently stepping up the short walk to Maxson’s lodgings and easing the door open. The Elder wasn’t in the living room and Nate padded to the bedroom, but Maxson wasn’t there, either. Nate retraced his steps, and found Maxson laying sprawled in the bathtub, unconscious. “God, the boy really can’t hold his liquor, can he?” Nate murmured. He turned the knife in his hand, trying to determine the best way to end a life. The neck was quickest, true, but the blood would get…there had to be…

Almost without realizing what he was doing, Nate lunged forward, digging the point of the blade into the far side of Maxson’s throat and tearing. The Elder’s eyes flew open as blood spurted in arcs across the ruined tile, but Nate held a firm hand over his mouth until his struggles, and the spray of his blood, weakened. 

“It’s done, then,” Nate said, surprising himself with the sound of his voice. He checked himself; blood on his right hand and sleeve, but nowhere else. He cast about for what to do next, and stepped out of the bathroom. He left the front door of the house open as he left, and made his way slowly back to the home he shared with Piper. 

She was waiting for him in the dark as he entered, and leapt to her feet. “Is it done? Did you…” Piper froze as she saw the bloody knife still in his hand. “For _fuck’s sake_ Blue, talk about missing the damn point!”

“It’s done,” Nate intoned.

“No, it’s half done, because you’re still _holding the murder weapon!_ Give me that. Give it to me.” Piper snatched the knife away from him, and for a moment he could see her resolve waver. “God, who would have thought the kid would have had so much blood in him?” Nate stood still, in shock, and she grabbed his shoulder and shook him. “Blue? Blue, you have to listen to me. I’m going to take care of this, all right? But I need you to go down to the river and wash all that red off of you, quietly.”

Nate placed one foot in front of the other, making his way outside and down the rocky slope to the stream out back. He squatted in the mud, sinking his hands into the icy water. He watched the wet darkness soak up his sleeves, and absent-mindedly began rubbing his hands together. His hands slowly came clean, and the ripples dissipated as his motions stopped, leaving Nate staring at his own haggard reflection.

A scream broke through his fugue, and Nate jolted to his feet. “Help! _Help!_ ” Nate ran towards the sound and found Piper in the living room of the house he’d left Kells in. “Paladins! Paladins, help!” She looked up at Nate, and pointed at Kells’ insensate form and the bloody knife in his hand. “Why does he have a knife? Whose blood is that?” Wallace and Murphy, haggard from booze and half-sleep stood gaping in the doorway. Piper glared at Nate with an expression that screamed _Say something, you idiot._

“My God,” Nate gasped, and snapped the practiced tone of command into his voice. “Both of you,” he said, pointing to the Paladins. “Go check on the Elder. Right now. Pray I’m wrong.” The Paladins hurried out, and Piper glared down at Kells. 

“Should we wake him up?”

“Not without our witnesses,” Nate intoned. He pulled the knife out of Kells’ hand, tossing it on the ground.

The Paladins returned a minute later, describing the grisly scene they found in Maxson’s bathroom. “Dammit. God…goddammit. Why did this happen?” He delivered a vicious kick at Kells, waking the man with a grunt. “Why’d you kill him, Kells?”

“…what…?” the other man groaned. He tried to sit up, but Nate shoved him down. “What are you talking about? Who’s killed?”

“For pity’s sake, look at your hand,” Piper said in a shrill, faux-panicked tone. 

Kells looked down at the blood on his hand then back up, looking for who was missing. “Where’s Maxson?”

“Spare me your bullshit,” Nate snapped. “Wallace, your sidearm.” 

“Now wait, wait, Nate!”

The gun was in Nate’s hand, and he leveled it at Kells and fired in one quick motion. “Spare me,” he repeated.

“I can’t believe it,” Piper whispered in a stage whisper. “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe Kells murdered the Elder. What do we do now?”

Nate handed the gun back to Wallace. Murphy gaped at Kells’ dead body, then over to Nate. “She’s right. What do we do now, Elder?”

* * *

Piper had been aboard the _Prydwen_ several times since she first hooked up with Nate. While Nate always seemed a bit overawed by the ritualized perfection and discipline of the Brotherhood, Piper had been keenly aware that the paladins and scribes viewed as being slightly above vermin. Never mind that half of them could barely read better than Nat, and _none_ of them had an independent thought in their minds. It was because of the Brotherhood’s poor attitude that she took no small amount of quiet joy in knowing that with Nate as Elder, not a single goddamn one of them had the balls to so much as look her in the eye.

Nate stood before the large windows of _Prydwen_ ’s conference room, hands clasped behind his back. Paladin Danse and Proctor Ingram stood across from him, wearing expressions that shifted between concern, frustration, and worry. Piper leaned against the bulkhead, largely ignored. 

Ingram spoke hesitantly. “Elder, I understand your point about wanting our personnel to be more knowledgeable about our technology, but…”

“This is a stupid idea, Nate,” Danse interrupted. “Part of the Brotherhood’s founding mission was to safeguard people from the dangers of technology. We can’t do that if we’re teaching everyone how it all works. So, yes, that means reserving the secrets of our equipment for our scribes and no one else.”

“Think of how many resources we waste having to transport and defend scribes in combat zones,” Nate retorted. “We know that power armor is going to break down in the field, and a lot of minor repairs and upkeep shouldn’t require entirely separate personnel to handle.” Nate scowled. “You said you wanted to see the military I served in, Danse. This is it. When I was in the US Army, everyone was expected to maintain their own equipment. The Brotherhood should do the same.”

It was interesting watching the contrast between Danse and Ingram, Piper decided. Where Ingram struggled to fit Nate’s edicts into her own understanding of how the Brotherhood work, Danse reacted with kneejerk obstinacy. He started to speak again, but Nate cut him off. “Debate’s over, Danse. Ingram, I expect you to being working out training schedules for all paladins. I expect them to be competent in the basic upkeep of their weapons and power armor before the end of the month.” Piper watched the muscles in Danse’s jaw work as he seethed, but the man said nothing. “Next order of business. The Minutemen view themselves as the law in the Commonwealth. I think we need to anticipate their…disagreeing…with our taking stewardship of the area.”

“Are you honestly planning on attacking the Minutemen next?” Danse asked, exasperation wearing through his tone. “They’re insignificant against us. A waste of resources.”

“I’m not saying that we’re going to move against them now,” Nate replied. “I’m saying that we’ll be ready _when_ they move against us. And I need you to prepare our contingencies for that eventuality.” He nodded to Ingram and Danse in turn. “You have your orders. Get to them.”

Piper held her tongue as the proctor and paladin filed out. She raised an eyebrow at Nate when their footfalls receded. “You need to be careful with him.”

“Danse will be fine,” Nate said. “Let’s talk in our quarters. Less chance of…”

“I can’t believe the noble Brotherhood would do anything as dishonorable as spying,” Piper quipped sardonically, but took Nate’s arm and allowed him to lead her to the lower deck. The paladins and scribes they passed saluted Nate; obedience was deeply engrained in them, and Nate was in charge. They made their way to Maxson’s former quarters, and Nate sealed the door behind them. Piper sat cross-legged on the bed, and watched as Nate settled in to the desk chair. “I was serious, though. You said those weird druggy sisters claimed that someone loyal to Danse would be Elder after you.” She held out her hands, palms up. “They were right before. I’m just worried about somebody taking a shot at you.”

“The danger is Danse himself,” Nate agreed. “He’s already bucking my authority. So, I’m going to keep him too busy to plot against me. Apparently he and his squad scouted Nukaworld when they first arrived, and it’s been overrun by raiders. A pacification campaign should keep him out of our hair for a good while.” 

“Details are important, Blue,” Piper said. “Danse isn’t the only problem; _someone loyal to Danse_ is the problem.”

Nate considered that. “Who’s loyal to him?”

Piper shrugged. “Who’s under his command?”

“Knight Rhys. Scribe Haylen. Both at the Cambridge Police Station.” He nodded thoughtfully. “I ran some missions with them, soon after I left the Vault. They’d follow Danse into hell.”

“They have, even if they don’t know it.” Piper rose to her feet and smoothed her coat. “Don’t let it trouble you at all, Nate. I’m going to leave the _Prydwen_ for a little bit and take care of this problem. I’ll be back in a day or two, and while I’m out…” she trailed the tip of her finger along the underside of his chin, “…I’ll see if I can find a Corsair Queen costume to go with that Grognak outfit you keep pretending you don’t want to try out.”

“Hurry back,” Nate replied wryly.

Piper darted in to kiss Nate on the nose, and let herself out of the quarters. She made her way through the airship, lost in thought and planning. There were a lot of variables at play, and there needed to be fewer of them; the problem of Rhys and Haylen would have to be taken care of quietly. Fortunately, years spent reporting on the seedy underside of the Commonwealth -that is to say, the Commonwealth- gave Piper a pretty good idea of the tools available. 

She clutched her cap to her head as she stepped out onto the flight deck, the wind whipping against her. Piper swallowed her gorge as the familiar and _completely appropriate_ fear of the three-hundred foot drop below her threatened to overwhelm her balance, and clutched the guiderail. If the power armored statue beside her noticed, he didn’t say anything. 

Piper placed one careful step in front of the last until she reached one of the vertibirds. The pilot was a thin man who looked up at her with a bored expression. “I need to get to Goodneighbor.”

Piper wasn’t Brotherhood, but everyone knew she was the Elder’s partner. The pilot didn’t argue. “Aye-aye, ma’am,” he said. “Strap on in.” The pilot glanced at her attire. “If you’re going downstairs, I’ve got body armor in the back. Yours if you want it.”

Piper climbed into the cabin of the vertibird. Where she was going, a bright red trenchcoat would be far more subtle than anything with a Brotherhood emblem on it. “I’m good, thanks.” 

The pilot grunted apathetically, looking over her seatbelts to make sure they were all properly in place. “Your funeral. Hang on.” The floor suddenly dropped away, and it was a full second before the rotors kicked in. Piper bit back a string of profanity about the pilot and his family since back before the Great War.

The area around Goodneighbor was a mess of ruined overpasses and devastated buildings spilling across the streets. The pilot set down in the least-obstructed area, and pulled back into the sky as soon as Piper hopped out. “Not even gonna make sure I get to the door!?” she shouted after the departing vertibird. “Whatever.”

The Goodneighbor guards knew Piper, and let her through the gates with far less argument than she ever got at Diamond City. She walked down main street, trading nods with ghouls, ne’er-do-wells, and whatever other wasteland detritus had washed up in Hancock’s little island of civility today. She hoped to missed him; a chem-addled ghoul only added variables, never reduced them. Piper stepped carefully down the crumbling stairs to the subway station hiding under Goodneighbor, and it’s worst-kept secret: the Third Rail.

“Oy, if it isn’t Ms. Wright,” the floating Mister Handy called out, its voice inflected with what someone at RobCo though was an English accent. “I respect the press, I do, but if I hear of you harassing anyone for scoops you’re out on your ass. Only warning!”

“All right, Whitehall, all right. No doing my job down here.” Piper surveyed the bar; Magnolia was between sets, and a scattering of people at the intersection of “rich” and “too unsavory for Diamond City” clustered around the room. None worked for what she needed. “Can I get a bottle of something strong and cheap?”

The robot rotated on its axis, plucking a bottle off the shelf and swinging it back towards her. Piper counted out a number of caps and left them on the counter, claiming the bottle and heading towards the VIP room. The clientele was different back there; a few Goodneighbor players fooling themselves into believing they were more important than they were worth, a couple of mercenaries looking to waste the proceeds of their last job, and a handful of hookers hoping to profit off the others. Piper spotted the one table everyone else was avoiding; a scrawny man with a scraggly goatee, and a hulking, monstrous super mutant. Piper shrugged, uncapped the bottle, and took a swig. “Yeah, all right. They _are_ pretty much the definition of plausible deniability.” She sauntered to the merc’s table, and slammed the bottle down. “Gentlemen, I’m looking for some assholes.”

“STRONG CRUSH HEAD AND FUNNY HAT ON HEAD,” the super mutant roared, half-rising from its chair.

“Now hold on there, buddy,” the other man said. “It’s like I was telling you before. We want business, and this lady seems like she has a job for us.”

“Perceptive! I like that.” Piper sat, and offered the bottle to the man. He took it and poured his glass to overbrimming. The super mutant, unsurprisingly, ignored her offer.

“Name’s MacCready,” the man said. “If you’ve got a job, we want to know about it. I’m the best crackshot this side of the Capital Wasteland, and Strong here is…well…he’s real strong.”

“Yeah, but is he housebroken?” Piper asked.

“Enough that you don’t wanna mouth off in front of him too bad.” MacCready eyed his companion, but Strong seemed to have missed the insult. “So what do you need done?”

“Well, it’s about my…husband.” Piper weaved her lies with truth. “He ran into some Brotherhood trouble, and now they want his head. I like his head where it is, so I’m asking you to put an end to those Brotherhood bastards first.”

“Lady, I appreciate the compliment, but if you think the two of us can take on the entire Brotherhood…”

“Not all of them. Just three: Danse, Rhys, and Haylen. Two men and a woman, paladins and a scribe, stationed in the Cambridge Police Station. I don’t think anyone else in the Brotherhood cares about this, but those three just won’t let it go.” She hugged her arms around her chest, the very image of womanly consternation. “I just don’t know what to do, I’ve tried talking to them and they’re just obsessed!”

“Yeah, the Brotherhood gets that way, don’t they?” MacCready agreed. “Still, going up against power armor…that is a difficult proposition. We’d need…well, Strong, what do you think would be fair compensation for that?”

“LOTS,” the super mutant intoned.

MacCready chuckled. “Yeah, you’re right about that. Lots.”

“I will tell you that my husband’s life is precious to me. Understand? _Very_ precious.” Piper made a quick calculation in her head. “Three thousand caps, precious.” 

“That is respectably precious,” MacCready said, stroking his shitty goatee. “Tell you what. You seem like a woman who wants things done right. That’ll take us a few days; get out there, scope the area, get an idea of the targets’ habits and patterns. Once we’ve done that, Strong and I take those three off the board, and do it right. We’ll bring you their holotags as proof of death. That work for you?”

“Yeah, I think it will,” Piper said. “Meet again here, in four days? Around sunset?”

MacCready shrugged. “That’ll be enough time. Don’t be late, though. I’ve got things to spend these caps on.” 

“And Strong must still find the Milk of Human Kindness,” the super mutant grunted. 

Piper snorted, then realized the super mutant was serious. “The what?”

“Good man told Strong about it. Milk makes humans powerful. Is what makes humans better than super mutants.” Strong rolled his shoulders with an ominous popping sound. “Strong will find milk, and drink milk, and be the strongest one there is.”

“Listen, buddy,” Piper retorted. “I’ve seen this milk stuff before, and you know what? It’s overrated. It doesn’t make you strong, it makes you too weak to do what you need to do. Makes you overlook the easier way to get things done. Compassion’s not worth it.”

“Strong has those already,” the super mutant rumbled. 

“Then you’re doing great,” Piper replied. “This bar, four sundowns from now. You have the holotags, I’ll have the caps, and we can all go our separate ways.” 

MacCready said some more words, but Piper didn’t hear any of it. She found herself back on the street, and perusing a box of clothing in Daisy’s Discount. _I was just…I’m losing time. That’s not good. C’mon, girl, focus._ She examined the box in front of her; mostly clean cloth, blouses, scarves, sun dresses, and something that could have been a corset if she’d never seen a corset before. _I could cobble together a Corsair Queen outfit from this,_ Piper mused. _Could be fun. There are worse things that I could do for him…do for…us…_ “Oh shit,” she murmured aloud.

“You okay there?” Daisy asked suspiciously. “Hey! Hey, if you’re gonna puke, do it away from my stuff!”

Piper bolted outside and crashed down against one of the benches. “Oh shit. Oh shit. ‘Compassion’s not worth it?’ Who _said_ that?” She swiped the cap off her head, and in doing saw a flash of red across her vision and stared down at herself in horror. “I’m covered in red,” she whispered.

* * *

Alert lights flashed along the length of _Prydwen_ ’s superstructure, and Nate sprinted up the stairs to bridge. “Report!” he barked.

“We heard back from the team sent to the Cambridge Police Station outpost,” Ingram said, her modified power armor frame hissing as she turned to face him. “They’ve been attacked. Haylen and Rhys are confirmed killed, Danse is MIA.”

“Goddammit,” Nate snarled. “By whom?”

“We don’t know,” Ingram said. “The team on-site reports that it looks like Haylen and Rhys were taken out before they could react. There’s a lot of outgoing fire from what was probably Danse’s laser rifle, but no additional bodies.”

“Radio to all other outposts. Put them on alert and tell them to fortify,” Nate pulled out a strategic map and found the Cambridge outpost on it. _Danse wasn’t supposed to live!_ “We can’t have any more losses.”

“ _Ad victoriam_ , Elder,” Ingram replied, and turned to issue his orders. 

Nate ran a hand through his hair. “I want vertibirds on patrol as well,” he said to no one in particular. “Find Danse.” He stood in the center of the bridge for a time, theoretically overseeing operations but really chasing his own thoughts in circles. _Whatever Piper did here, it didn’t work. Not all the way._ Eventually he summoned his authoritative tone. “I’ll be in my quarters. Alert me the instant there’s news.”

The atmosphere in _Prydwen_ was tense, and Nate took the long way across the ship and back to speak with the crew. It did wonders for moral for the scribes and paladins to see their commander sharing their concerns. He worked his way through the workshop and galley before pulling open the door to his quarters. Piper sat propped up in the bed, an old copy of Publick Occurrences in her hands. “Heya, Blue,” she said. Her skin was sallow and eyes distant, an after effect of the sedatives she’d been given after returning to _Prydwen_ in hysterics several days before.

Nate sat on the side of the bed. “How are you feeling?” 

“Been better. Been worse.” Piper’s lips tightened. “Mostly been better.”

“We just got word. Rhys and Haylen have been killed. Danse is missing, but we’re looking,” Nate said.

“That could be better to, but it is what it is,” Piper nodded faintly. “You’re going to have to kill him. Nobody’s loyal to a dead man.” Nate opened his mouth to answer, but Piper continued on. “I don’t regret what I did. I have nothing to regret. After my father was killed, I said to myself, ‘Piper, you have a sister to take care of. That’s more important than anything.’ So killing is morally wrong. I accept…” her voice caught, “…I accept that. But Nat is safer in a Commonwealth where the Brotherhood isn’t rampaging around. And you’re better off in charge of the Brotherhood, it’s just a proper use of your talents. Therefore.” She nodded definitively. “I have nothing to regret.”

“You know I agre-”

“Having Maxson in charge of the Brotherhood could only have made things worse,” Piper pressed on, heedless that Nate had spoken. “Eliminating him was _objectively_ the best option, for us and frankly for every…” her voice trailed off, and her eyes actually met Nates. “Oh my god, Nate, how did I become so okay with killing? Like, there’s self-defense out in the wasteland, sure, but what we did…that was _murder_. There’s blood on my hands, Nate, will they never be clean? What I did…who am I? How did I get from me to this?”

“You’re feeling overwhelmed,” Nate said. “I’m going to fix all this, and you’ll see that there’s nothing to be afraid of. Just sit tight a little longer.” 

Piper nodded absent, and Nate backed away. He closed the door behind himself and headed out to the flight deck. This mess with Danse had to be resolved quickly, before Piper completely lost her mind, and Nate knew where he had to go for advice. Ingram was easy enough to find, and it only took a few moments to secure a vertibird.

“I don’t like this,” Ingram shouted over the rotors. “We’re in broad daylight and close to the ground. It wouldn’t be hard for anyone with a rocket launcher to shoot us down right now.” Nate ignored her, scanning the blasted woods below them. “Can you at least tell me what we’re looking for?”

“There!” Nate pointed with a cry. It looked different from above, but he clearly recognized the weird sister’s shack. “Set us down nearby and stay with the vertibird. I won’t be long.” 

Ingram settled the vertibird down on its wheels, and Nate trotted across the broken field to the shack. He thought for a moment of knocking, but just pushed his way inside. The three women were all there; Mama Murphy in her chair, Carla curled up on the mat that served as a bed, and Cait sprawled spread-eagle on the floor. “Hello?” Nate said. “I need to talk to you.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Cait rumbled from the floor, “or else I’ll make you eat yer own dick.”

“Don’t mind her now,” Carla said, one eye peeking open at Nate. “We’re just riding the downside of my personal concoction, and, well, she’s never entirely pleasant to be around in the first place.”

“Make you eat yer goddamn dick too,” Cait wheezed. 

“I need answers,” Nate said, desperate.

Cait lolled her head. “Speak your fuckin’ questions.”

Carla stretched herself on the cot. “Make your demands.”

Mama Murphy stared at Nate with intensity. “We’ll answer.”

“Danse is in the wind, and he’s probably put together that I’m responsible for the attack on the Cambridge police station. He’s going to come for me.”

“Be bloody, bold, and resolute,” Mama Murphy said. “You are the Sole Survivor. Laugh at the power of man, because none of woman born will harm you.”

“I…” Nate thought about that a moment. “’None of woman born?’ That sounds like synths. They’re created in machines. But the synths are all destroyed! The Institute recalled them all in the final battle to defend them, and Danse and I blew them all to hell! There are no synths left!” Nate laughed sharply. “You’re a bizarre group of women, but everything you’ve said has been right so far. So I’m safe. I’m safe. Thank you.” Mama Murphy waved him away, and Cait stuck her arm and her middle finger straight up in the air as he turned to leave. 

“None of woman born,” Nate chuckled to himself. “God, now I want to find Danse. Nothing does your confidence better than knowing that you can’t lose.” He trudged back to the vertibird, but stopped before climbing in at the sight of Ingram’s strained expression. “What’s wrong?”

Ingram squeezed the bridge of her nose. “You want the bad news first, or the worse news?”

“Worse news,” Nate replied.

“Got word from _Prydwen_.” Ingram coughed. “I don’t know how to say this. Apparently Piper left your quarters, got to the flight deck, and…she jumped, Elder. Flight crew tried to stop her, but no one could get to her in time. It was hundreds of feet up, there was…there was nothing anyone could do for her.”

“Oh,” Nate said, sagging against the side of the vertibird. “I…she should have held on. Just a few more hours, a few more days. I could have fixed this for her.” He slammed his fist against the metal hull. “All of this sound and fury, for _nothing_.” He felt an enormous pressure crushing down on his chest, and desperately fought to expand his lungs. “Then what’s the _bad_ news?”

“Danse has been spotted,” Ingram replied. “Moving towards the airport, from the Castle. He’s at the head of a formation of Minutemen, and they’ve already opened fire on a Brotherhood patrol that attempted to make contact.”

“ _Son of a bitch_ ” Nate roared. “Piper, Piper I couldn’t save. But _Danse_ I can do something about.” He hauled himself into the vertibird. “Take us up, Ingram, and get us to the last known position of that formation. I’m ending this.” 

“Yes, sir,” Ingram said. If there was a tone of resigned hesitation in her voice, Nate didn’t notice. The vertibird launched into the air, turned in place, and began moving at speed. “I’m not sure this is the right play, sir. Danse…he’s always been loyal. He’s an honorable man, and he’s earned my respect many times over. I’m worried that this is a situation where we should let cooler heads prevail.”

“And you think my head isn’t cool?”

“I think your girlfriend just committed suicide and you may not be thinking clearly.”

Nate nodded. “You’ve known Paladin Danse for a long time?”

“Since he joined up in the Capital Wasteland,” Ingram replied. 

“Would you follow him?” Nate asked.

Ingram kept her eyes fixed on the landscape passing below. “Difficult question…given our current circumstances…but like I said, he’s never done anything to earn my suspicion.”

“I see,” Nate said. He could almost swear he heard Mama Murphy laughing. “Well. Until I run into someone who wasn’t born, I don’t have a fucking thing to worry about from Danse, from you, or from anyone else.”

“Yes…Elder.”

Nate spotted the formation first, a group of about a dozen Minutemen, led by a figure in power armor. “Hover us over that intersection ahead of them.” He unbuckled from the chair and hauled himself to the back cabin where an empty set of power armor loomed, waiting. Nate nestled himself into the suit and felt it close around him. “Stay on-station until I’m done here,” he commanded. 

“I don’t think they’re going to want to talk,” Ingram shouted back to him. 

“Good,” Nate said, and fixed the helmet over his head. He grabbed a laser minigun from the armor and stepped out the vertibird’s side door into open air.

He hit the ground with a resounding crash, pavement fracturing under his armor’s boots. Nate stood to his full height and surveyed the situation before him; Danse and a Minuteman with a stupid hat standing in the middle of the street, the rest scattered into cover. 

“I am honestly surprised you came to me yourself,” Danse said, his armor’s speakers turning it into a shout. “Figured you’d hire some more killers to do your dirty work for you. If I don’t kill you myself, Haylen and Rhys’ ghosts will never let me be.”

The man with the stupid hat spoke up. “I know the Brotherhood and the Minutemen haven’t always seen eye to eye, Elder. But the posturing you’ve been doing? What Danse tells us about your plan to attack us directly? Sometimes we have to take a stand, both for ourselves and for the settlements of the Commonwealth.”

Nate smiled. “That’s very noble, mister…what’s your name?”

“I’m Preston Garvey, Elder.”

Nate leveled the laser minigun and let fly dozens of shots in the space of a heartbeat. Danse braced himself for the onslaught, but Preston had barely a moment to realize what was coming before the beams of coherent light seared the life from his body. “You had a mother,” Nate smirked. 

The Minutemen opened fire, and Danse charged with a roar. Nate fired a stream of energy into his armor before Danse got in close, battering the heavy weapon to the ground. They crashed together with the mighty clang of steel on steel, and Nate landed a devastating blow to Danse’s helmet, tearing it from his armor. Danse staggered back, fury in his eyes. “You’re done, Nate. I’m going to take that Vault suit and that Pipboy and hang them from a pole with a sign that says ‘here may you see the tyrant.’”

“Come on, then!” Nate roared. “And damned be the one who first cries for mercy!”

Danse charged again, but this time came low, toppling Nate with a resounding crash. Before he could rise, Danse struck again and again, first denting, then crushing armor and the man inside. Nate’s resistance slowed, and Danse delivered one last, fatal blow.

Ingram stood a few hundred feet out, watching warily. Danse waved her over as the Minutemen emerged from their cover.

“How are you doing?” Ingram asked tentatively.

“Tired. Confused.” Danse looked down at the mangled wreak of metal and blood that was Nate’s coffin. “I have no idea why he thought attacking would be wise. I have no idea why he did a lot of things.”

“I think he…lost himself. In the head.” Ingram said. “Come on. We’ve got a lot of cleaning up to do.”


End file.
